Anna Rosenberg is a suave, more naturalistic Basic Instinct (1992), where Michaël Moscatelli's not interested in amping his film's stylistic or plot-driven thrills, but rather amps spectatorial suspense through a labyrinthine, convoluted conversational script that empowers its three leads and makes for sublime award-worthy performances. But is Duval in the right? Is Rosenberg truly to blame for what her readers do? Lieutenant Scavino (Pasquale Greco) will find himself cornered as much as Rosenberg in Duval's cat-and-mouse game. Rosenberg's model citizen facade, ideals, and integrity are pulled apart in an attempt to unmask the monster ("director of conscience" as Duval calls her) within. Wow, a mind-boggling scriptural and performative odyssey, a tense and hostile one-location film where what seems like easy police questioning for Anna Rosenberg (Claudia Gerini) soon trespasses into a trap and plan for personal vendetta at the hands of Capitaine Duval (Christophe Duval), who lost much due to Rosenberg's reckless uncensored fiction which corrupted the minds of his loved ones to life-terminating consequences. A hypnotic odyssey and great victory for experimental cinema. I do long to see Vonneumann's kaleidoscopic exploration take him to a larger narratorial and cinematic feature-length scale canvas. This observation is by no means limiting, as video space art has quite the impressive price tag attached and is a curatorial priority at MoMA and Tate, to name a few. Vonneumann's oeuvre does have a tendency to confine itself to the realms of installation art and academic research in its documentarian nature devoid of character narrative. Johnny Vonneumann pioneers the way for kaleidoscopic storytelling, serving what he has baptised in An American In Europe to be a new sub-genre, the "documentary opera." Near-hysteric fast-cutting, stylistic rhetoric, and symphonic richness override our senses resulting in a documentarian canvas that's perhaps too avant-garde for the restless mainstream eye to sit through and enjoy. I love independent cinema that preoccupies itself with innovating and experimenting beyond the omnipotent classical continuity system. Perhaps it's over too soon, that may be my only criticism as everything in this cinematographic canvas is first-class-a fitting tribute, sexy, hypnotic, and savagely fabulous. Instead of taking the R-rated route into graphic violence, gore, and vampire sex, the Zarbis focus on the fun absurdity of it all and breathe new life into an exhausted genre. Intricate in every way, After Party throws intertextual connections to Michael Jackson's 1983 Thriller music video and makes a gleeful canvas soon turn into a bloodbath. The Zarbis maintain an air of mistrust and wariness, engulfing us in horror iconography under the dark of the moon it's acoustically that the Zarbis finally alert our senses and switch gears for this horror musical. When After Party feels like a self-contained ambiguous short film about a wealthy narcissistic couple stumbling into a flashmob in the middle of the night, the Zarbis deliver spectatorial thrills as this clan soon turns into vampires ready to devour their expensive prey. True Blood (2008-14) and Twilight (2008) have nothing on After Party. Martin has irrevocable creative potential, and from the moment he employed it in Abstract, he began to change the world.
That way, unpolished cinematic realism and narrative silence allow for a more cohesive and immersive spectatorial experience, where dramatic tension flows more naturally. Had Martin opted to document his quest by addressing the camera directly, as if recording confessional diaries in the vein of Blair Witch Project, it would have scored him a home-run. There's a tense coexistence between claustrophobic shots that overtly suggest first-person realism to expositional coverage that evokes dramatic tension. Whilst Abstract operates within an ambitious and rewarding canvas, it never gets to exploit its true power and can feel disjointed.
Such an approach remains a sign of a true cinephile, and often the very origin for masters of cinema, Martin Scorcese's The Big Start (1967) and The Blair Witch Project (1999), are formidable examples of skeleton-crew films that went onto gain significant recognition. Abstract 's biggest attraction is unquestionably its solopreneurial filmmaking approach at the hands of Martin himself, who stars in, directs, shoots, and edits the whole motion picture. When his sister becomes yet another addition to his hometown's missing people list, Kristian Martin decides to take action and go into the dark abyss of the forest to look for answers.
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