bittersweet for belonging out of time now, or for being so perfectly of another: this, speed racer, the prequels... in their reflection is such a dire image of big-budget studio filmmaking, so much so that this film's exhilaration and force is totally blindsiding.

this film is the moments preceding and following tears: emotionally, like so many of my favourite films, balances somewhere between a glass-like delicacy and the unbearable throes of grief and rage: one of the most surprising things about this film were the action scenes, pulled off with such grace and cosmetic sheen so that when the brutality pushes to the forefront the colour drains and everything stops in their tracks, leaving the scenes inbetween, the domestic and personal, as a tender negative space where everything reverberates, the characters being allowed to think through the filmmaking. i've never seen a film, of this size (or really, any size), even it's aforementioned siblings, so thoroughly and efficiently deconstruct itself. within the heady, dense montages of action (most shots already so frenetic that the screen becomes a liquid stream rather than one of continual distinct images), the mix of analogue and digital techniques and replications - cgi standing in for setting and performer, the antiquated or campy set against the visceral, the sheer movement at it's core via editing/cinematography/sound (definitely sound, too; what a great sounding film) - is so perfectly in sync with the film's emotional core, it's quiet thrashing heart.

and what a heart - so big as to be able to step inside it. i don't think that there's anyone or anything outside of this film's love and forgiveness, so quick and attentive to provide the space and time necessary to each feeling, to perfectly understand what is happening from the inside of each of it's players and to bring it out and make it material. made me think of francis ford coppola.

"i'm not asking you to forgive me, i just want you to understand."