Well, she is trying to whitewash history. She wants to put out her version of the Marcos legacy. Everyone tells themselves a story of their life that makes sense, but the difference between the visions of grandeur of people like Imelda and Jackie Siegel and the average person is that they can manipulate reality to become their fantasy using wealth. Her story helps her survive. It pushes her to keep going. If she felt like she was doing terrible things, it would get in her way. I found it a little difficult to discern toward the end: Does Imelda and the rest of the Marcos family see the contradictions in boosting a candidate like Rodrigo Duterte, who runs against the perceived corruption of a system only to re-legitimize a self-dealing former dynasty?
Or is the irony completely lost on them? When Bongbong was campaigning, he also said he was going to go against corruption.
Duterte looks up to Marcos. He likes the idea of the strongman. I was more surprised that Bongbong would align with Duterte because Bongbong was Western-educated and has the veneer of a legitimate politician, so I was surprised that he would go with somebody responsible for so many street killings.
Duterte backed the sister, Imee, for senate, and she won—as did every candidate that Duterte backed. A thread through your work is that people suffering from the adverse effects of wealth tend to cast themselves as victims in their own stories.
From your experience, do you think that narrative holds any water? Or is it just a survival technique? As someone who observes the intersection of wealth and aesthetics, do you have any theories about why this phenomenon cuts across the globe? In a way, that was a little bit more of what I looked at in Generation Wealth.
Voice from the Gutter [David M. Carew] on quidastbuzzlent.tk *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Living a desperate, lonely life in Nashville, a reclusive, alcoholic . Living a desperate, lonely life in Nashville, a reclusive writer seeks comfort from massage-parlor prostitutes and other down-and-out types he meets in Music.
You see that in the portrait of Imelda at the beginning of the film and in some of the commissioned portraiture she did—and, for that matter, some of what the Siegels did. You can see the love for gold that Trump has. And dangerous economically. We have this myth of the American dream where anyone can go from rags to riches. Obama called that out more than two decades ago when he was a lawyer. The thing about Donald Trump is that people think they can be him one day, or maybe their child can be him.
Especially on the millennial side, there are signs of people waking up and wanting something different. The problem is that the culture and corporate capitalism are so slanted toward keeping the status quo. Just money in politics, for example, and the disinformation from social media. We saw it in the Philippines, we saw it here, we saw it with Brexit. T hroughout The Hottest August , director Brett Story asks her interview subjects—a collection of mostly working-class, outer-borough residents of New York City—for their feelings about the future. From there, the responses are despairing, even at their most hopeful, as nearly every subject answers with a summation of their career goals or their desire to earn more money.
Our collective failure to reckon with the onward march of climate change and vulture capitalism is the often unspoken subject of this structuralist documentary, which was filmed over the course of August The middle- and upper-class New Yorkers glimpsed in The Hottest August are most often seen peering through windows or standing in desolate corporate courtyards. Gridlike compositions of air-conditioning units are dotted with running flat-screen televisions or films projected onto white walls.
The public square is hard to locate, and Story finds them where she can: a Black Lives Matter rally where black speakers address an overwhelmingly white crowd; a Staten Island cop bar where politics are deemed verboten until one ex-police officer goes on a rant against a mythical welfare queen; a recreational softball league that descends into a near brawl; or the beach, where most of the subjects Story talks to are underemployed. Near the beach in the Rockaways, one small home has been raised multiple stories on stacks of wooden pallets.
People are mad at the rich, who they also want to be. And then there are those clever enough to seek to profit from the ambient rage of the era: an entrepreneur who runs an industrial space where clients can destroy everything in sight, or a hipster from a VR company who barely believes his own bullshit about the automation revelation yielding a universal basic income where all will be free to do as they please. While there are moments of grace and whimsy in here a woman on a bench texting next to a duck, a smart young skateboarder who rides Story for interviewing some loudmouthed teens in the same park , the documentary represents a city ground down by inequality and division, where millions of selves who have by and large given up on one another.
It focuses equally on moments of shared connection and incidental loss until the two feel indistinguishable. Do hands have memories? He feels adrift, barely present in a world that seems only to have harsh words and unhappiness for him. People and objects loom above it, its digits taking up wide swaths of the frame as they cling with insect-like precision to boxes or hold a microphone in their grip.
The metaphor at the heart of the film seems deceptively obvious: disconnection from the world and other people, literalized through a hand severed from its rightful body. Through images of loneliness, as in a wooden igloo cobbled together on a rooftop, I Lost My Body builds an atmosphere of isolation and, above all, uncertainty.
His infatuation with Gabrielle Victoire Du Bois , initially so stirring as they close their eyes to listen to the rain and the wind from separate ends of an apartment intercom, goes in a few stalkerish directions. She rejects him for being a creep, and Naofel ironically comes to find fulfillment not in a relationship, as he had hoped, but in the woodworking he initially took up only to impress Gabrielle.
T he moral morass of the George W. Bush era is surveyed and scrutinized in writer-director Scott Z. Burns even manages to slightly best his mentor with his second solo feature. Yet Daniel mostly remains a cipher, a human enigma attempting, with Sisyphean effort, to expose and unravel the most sadistic and inhumane institutional practices.
And it helps, at least initially, that Driver is so good at conveying a total single-mindedness. Burns is clearly reappropriating and remixing cinematic lessons learned from Alan J. Archival footage of many of the big names in the torture debate such as Dubya and Dick Cheney is peppered throughout. Elsewhere, Maura Tierney and Michael C. Hall, as a pair of ideologically adaptable bureaucrats, headline the sections of the decade-plus narrative that detail the nitty gritty of the enhanced interrogation program, waterboarding most definitely included.
Cinematographer Eigil Bryld shoots these latter sequences with a sickly green-orange tinge that one supposes is meant to convey ethical queasiness. Whereas the scenes featuring Jones and his team poring over papers and presenting their findings to functionaries in various stages of outrage or not tend toward the icy blues or the ultra-high-def neutrality of a David Fincher production.
Ever-shifting color temperatures aside, The Report is rarely stimulating. Suddenly Daisey starts talking about himself, his college days and his own near encounters with Brecht and others.
In the case of P. T Barnum he floats into a monologue of his first experience with the Circus. He is so slick at sliding in and out of the lives of the Genius guys into his own life that we are hardly aware that it is a setup for him to talk about himself. All he has to do is sit at the desk and talk. His bait and switch from talking about a Genius and then morphing into his life is compelling and surprisingly funny.
Watch in amazement as some of your favorite comic book characters come to life. There are super heroes in tights and capes.
watch And tough hard-boiled cops Jon Wolanske , who is a cop but also a closeted secret super hero. Sketch Comedy is on the fly at the Eureka. You never know what the KML group will come up with. The show is filled with nuts, sexual innuendoes and lots of funny comic book stuff that comes to life right before your eyes. Why, you might even think that YOU could jump off a tall building and live. Everything you see here is strictly absurdist.
These are not real lessons on how to be a super hero. Interviewer: You were? Interviewer: Partitioned a lot? Interviewer: You said you fought in the first World War, is that right? Gutter: No I was too young. Gutter: My brother was in the first. Interviewer: He was? Interviewer: He would have fought on the German side, right? Gutter: No he was in Austria-Hungaria. Well sure they was. Interviewer: I mean they were allied with Germany? Gutter: Oh well was a war over that time, you know, sure.
Interviewer: Was that in your own house? Interviewer: What kind of house was that? Was it stone? Gutter: Stone. Interviewer: Your family had built it or what?
Gutter: Oh there were God knows how many generations were there. Interviewer: Your family had lived there many generations? Gutter: Yeah sure. Interviewer: Porubka. Hard to pronounce in English. Interviewer: How big. Interviewer: I met, well.